


A Meal Made for Autumn

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [215]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2572997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiss the cook!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Meal Made for Autumn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting to the Master Apprentice ML  
> Travis for posting to the Master Apprentice Archive on AO3  
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia
> 
> [Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Something_Wicked_This_Way_Comes_%28novel%29)  
> [Something Wicked This Way Comes (film)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Something_Wicked_This_Way_Comes_%28film%29)
> 
> Autumn in Arcadia:  
> 1) [Autumn Rhapsody](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1798075)  
> 2) [Hearth and Home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2272758)  
> 3) [Sweater Weather](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4127694)  
> 4) [Autumn Kata](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4209186)  
> 5) [Copper and Chestnut](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4276161)  
> 6) [The Man in the Grey Flannel Pajamas](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4312158)  
> 7) [The Scents of Autumn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4397102)

Autumn leaves danced on the sidewalk around him as Ian walked to the mailbox on Wednesday evening after his classes were over for the day. He grabbed the mail and strode up the path to the front door of their home. "Hey, Quinn!" he called, grinning when he heard a mellow, "Hello, laddie," coming from the kitchen, backed by a chorus of welcoming yips from Artoo and Sandy. The aroma of Marsala wine and herbs announced what was cooking before the other man of the house needed to say a word about it.

The first fire of the season was crackling merrily in the hearth, courtesy of his husband, eager to take the autumn chill away from his skin. Before he could head for the fireplace, the pups scampered to the door to meet him, jumping up to his knees in their enthusiasm. Ian dropped his briefcase, along with the mail, on the cherrywood drop-leaf table by the door, so he'd have his hands free to greet Quinn and the puppies properly. Little paws made pulls in the fabric of his slacks, but he didn't mind. He couldn't imagine someone holding a magnifying glass near them anytime soon.

Ian gave the pups a thorough petting and pampering, luxuriating in their longer fur for the season. He liked them shaggy, just the way he loved his guid-man. After Sandy and Artoo had all but melted into the carpet, he led the procession to the kitchen, grinning when the puppies scurried to their baskets. Quinn grinned back as soon as he caught sight of his herven.

"Welcome home, m'lad," rumbled Quinn. He'd already started dinner and angled away from the stove in order to get a kiss from a deliciously cool Ian. "Mmmm, I can see I don't need that 'Kiss the cook' apron Bant gave us as a gag gift at last month's barbecue."

"No, it's safe to say that's not necessary," Ian murmured, knowing that Bant was well aware of this, too. He gave his husband another kiss for good measure. Rubbing up against a snuggly warm Quinn after the bite in the air outdoors made for a delightful contrast.

Quinn turned the heat off from under the broccoli, while reaching for the cover of the pot with his free hand. He wanted to keep the florets a bright emerald green, rather than a soggy olive. Quinn washed a few dabs of sauce off his fingers, with Ian taking the chance to wash a couple of curls of puppy fur away, as well. Then Quinn put his arms around his husband and kissed him nice and slow. "You taste of cinnamon and wood smoke, m'love. A delectable combination."

"And I can tell you've been tasting the Marsala sauce, ma gradh." Ian put his tongue to good use, searching out all traces of it inside Quinn's mouth. "Mmmm, what's the special occasion?"

"Just that you had two classes and an Exam Committee meeting today, while I was doing research here at home," Quinn replied.

"Well, it's pure joy to come home to, just like you are." Ian kissed Quinn again, never able to get enough of him.

"How was your class, laddie?" Quinn said, as he eased off Ian's corduroy jacket, admiring the way its British tan hue set off the copper in his husband's hair. He threw it over a chair with a fine disregard for creases. Luckily, that jacket was practically indestructible, having stood up to the vicissitudes of academic life --mainly chalk and ink -- for the last eleven years.

"Not bad. I just assigned the opening chapters of 'Something Wicked This Way Comes' a couple of days ago. The kids are really getting into it." Ian nuzzled into Quinn's chin. "They even got the Shakespeare reference in the title."

"Good choice for this time of year. Feels like the sequel to 'Dandelion Wine', set in autumn instead of summertime."

Ian chuckled. "I get a craving for candy corn whenever I read it."

"Have you seen the movie? It came out when I was in junior high, just about the same age as Will and Jim," Quinn said. "And Bradbury himself actually wrote the script."

"Oh, I loved it," Ian answered. "It was the first time I saw Jonathan Pryce, and he was terrifying as Mr. Dark."

Quinn nodded. "I also liked Jason Robards; he was the perfect choice for Will's dad."

"On Friday, I'm going to write a note on the blackboard to recommend the movie. It will certainly give the kids good visuals to go along with the text."

"Did you bring the mail in?" asked Quinn, then dropped a kiss onto soft coppery spikes.

Ian nodded into the softness of Quinn's Aran pullover. "I left it by the door. There's an oversized package I can't wait to open." He disentangled himself reluctantly to bring it all to the kitchen.

Since dinner was still fifteen minutes away, Quinn didn't set the table yet so they could sort through the mail. They both reached for the bulky packet at the same time, with Quinn graciously yielding to the bright curiosity in his laddie's eyes. The package was insulated with bubble-wrap to protect the contents, which made it even more intriguing. Ian picked it up and read the return address -- New York, NY -- which explained everything. It had to be from their niece. Lelia's penmanship had grown along with her and now was almost calligraphic in its beauty.

Ian opened the packet, removed the protective wrapping, and carefully pulled out an oil painting in a slim cherrywood frame with cream matting. He had the strange feeling of staring at himself for a moment and almost gasped at the uncanny likeness. It was disorienting. Quinn stood beside him, also incredibly life-like. They were standing in the midst of the autumn wonderland in their own back yard. Leaves were flying around them, some sharing the copper color of Ian's hair, some chestnut brown, like Quinn's, and the rest in various rich shades that suggested Lelia had used most of the tubes in the paint box Jo and Keith had given her.

They had their arms around one another, smiling at each other at a three-quarter angle towards the viewer. You could feel the love they shared all the way from Alderaan.

The first thing Quinn thought was that his husband had hair the color of autumn. He absently ran the real thing through his fingers while admiring the picture. No painting, no matter how realistic, could capture the soft silkiness that met his fingertips. It was like running your hands through cashmere.

The first thing Ian thought was that his husband had eyes the color of an autumn sky. He looked over at him, to compare real to painted eyes, and saw Quinn making comparisons of his own. Of course, nothing could compare to the real thing.

"Uncle Qui and Uncle Wan" in Lelia's beautiful script graced the bottom left corner, while her signature and the date of 9/17/14 were on the right.

"She's such an angel," Ian said, touched by her thoughtfulness.

"That she surely is, my lad. And she's also grown into quite an accomplished artist," marveled Quinn. "Seems like only yesterday she was still playing with fingerpaints."

Ian had to resist the urge to trace the brush strokes as he gazed at Quinn's face on canvas, then ran his hand over the fuzz on his herven's cheek instead. "Uncle Qui," he said with satisfaction. Just then, Sandy yipped in his basket, for all the galaxy as if he seconded Ian's sentiment.

"Uncle Wan," Quinn said, beaming as he kissed his lad again.

The oven timer sounded, rousing Artoo briefly from his nap. He snuffled and turned over in his cushioned basket.

Ian chuckled. "That's our cue." He brushed Quinn's chin with his thumb. "How 'bout I set the table for dinner as soon as I put this away?" He carefully returned the painting to its protective bubble-wrap, then grabbed the rest of the mail to take it all to the coffee table in the living room for the moment.

"That would be a kindness, Ian," Quinn said as Ian walked out the door. He started to whistle while he put the finishing touches on dinner.

Ian chose a cream lace tablecloth, in honor of his husband's scrumptious dinner tonight. Chocolate-brown cloth napkins, topped with Celtic Thistle utensils passed down from Quinn's grandmother, along with earthenware plates sat on the lace with simple sophistication. It looked a lot like their wedding reception decor at both Roma and the Sunset Tower. Ian's favorite recent additions were the two tiny salt and pepper shakers they'd bought on their cruise to New England, shaped like miniature lighthouses, because they reminded him of fifteen years of bliss.

They sat down to their favorite Italian cuisine -- a meal of Veal Marsala, broccoli with melted asiago cheese, and orzo in pesto sauce.

One taste, and Ian said, "On second thought, I do need to be reminded to 'Kiss the cook' more often." He licked his bottom lip, which Quinn unconsciously echoed. "Y'know, you're just as much of an artist as our niece."

Quinn shook his head in self-deprecation. "Well, it's hard to go wrong with a good Marsala." He winked at Ian before taking another bite.

They concentrated on Quinn's elaborate meal for a delicious little while; as Tolkien said in "The Fellowship of the Ring," it was "an engrossing entertainment: rich, abundant, varied, and prolonged." Especially when Quinn brought out the crowning surprise -- a spice cake with vanilla icing, given to them by Prudence that afternoon, complete with their favorite iced blue flowers.

"What about hanging Lelia's painting over the piano? Ian asked. He took a forkful of cake. "We could move the Hildebrandt print to the hallway."

"Good idea, lad. Her artwork deserves the place of honor." Quinn's eyes crinkled when he noticed the bit of icing Ian had artfully left on his generous lower lip. Some things never changed, he was delighted to realize.

Ian nodded. "That way, she'll see it as soon as she walks in the door this weekend." He got up to clear the table, his way of thanking Quinn for all of the work he'd put into this marvelous meal.

Quinn rose with him, but before Ian could pick up a dish, he took his lad in his arms and licked off that taste of vanilla cream on his mouth.

Both of them sighed at the same time; autumn was off to a propitious start.


End file.
